


Grattia Sabbati

by AlixxBlack



Series: Holidays with Merthur [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bromance, Brotp, Ealdor, Gen, M/M, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving equivalent, boys chasing boys, holiday fluff, just two dudes riding horses five feet apart, momma knows best, otp, pubs, there is also a rumor mill, these tags are a mess omg, why did i try to meme in my tags omg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 15:02:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13638651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlixxBlack/pseuds/AlixxBlack
Summary: Merlin wants to visit home during the holiday, Grattia Sabbati, but Arthur refuses to let him leave. During the celebrations, Merlin runs into the wrong person and Arthur defends easily. It raises some brows and some questions... Thankfully, Lancelot might be able to help clear up some of the confusion!





	Grattia Sabbati

Arthur watches as Merlin stops to talk to Gwen across the way. She’s leaning in, probably to hear her peer more clearly, and it puts a strange knot in his stomach. He wasn’t keen on addressing why it was that Merlin’s proximity to anyone made him nervous. As such, he convinces himself now that Gwen is leaning into him – into Merlin – because she can’t hear him. The laugh and nearly bump their foreheads together. Just before walking away Merlin places a hand on her shoulder. Arthur watches as his lips form words, and his mind produces his voice clearly: _“Gratia Sabbati!”_

 

The celebrations began today. He wasn’t planning on attending the dinner but Merlin was nagging him about having to stay in Camelot. He’s been asking for weeks if he can go home to visit his mother. His argument has been that he works very hard to keep the crowned prince happy. This is not wrong but Arthur selfishly denied him that right. Well, his father would call it a privilege.

 

Morgana was giving Gwen the week off, kind of. Gwen only need be present for the evening dinners. A swarm of men were always propositioning her for marriage, or something more intimately casual. Arthur wouldn’t doubt her to take advantage of the overwhelming interest in her, but Gwen was her scapegoat. Gwen kept her busy and very off limits. Who would dare propose in front the ward’s handmaiden? Some, but not many, as Arthur has heard.

 

Arthur’s desire to keep Merlin around was simply to avoid being alone. Plenty of knights would have no problem keeping the prince company. After all, they were essentially equals. Unfortunately, during Gratia Sabatti nothing changes for Arthur except that men he would normally be thanking were thanking him. He was not deserving of such gratitude.

 

“Sire, would you like a refill?” A manservant that doesn’t belong to Arthur disrupts his thoughts. With his eyes still glued to Merlin he barely registers the request for more. The young man, barely into his teens, swapped his goblet for another and went on his way. A few princesses were standing nearby and focused as he was on Merlin weaving in and out of the crowd, he overheard their conversation.

 

_“His father intends to marry him off to form an alliance.”_

_“Do you think he would fancy a dance?”_

_“I’ve heard he has a close relationship with one of the servants in the castle.”_

Arthur chuckles, partially because of the girls speculating on his life and also because Merlin trips over a knight’s foot poking out of a table. It is not a Camelot knight, though, and it turns badly very quickly. It only takes a second for Arthur to dash over to his manservant.

 

“You rotten bag of bones!” The guest calls out to Merlin. He’s mumbling his apologies as he picks up the food from the floor and uses his dull blue scarf to mop up his spilled ale. For a split second Arthur was glad to have accepted a goblet from another servant. Then he snaps back into the moment.

 

“You should be whipped for your insolence!” Instantly the knight’s hands are wrapped around Merlin’s shoulders. Arthur swipes the man’s sword from the side of the table and twirls easily around them, the blade soon pointed at his face.

 

The knight’s gaze shifts from his manservant to the prince, “What business do you have with this man?” Merlin shifts slightly to Arthur. His eyes scream that he is frightened, but his face denies any such thing. His body language insists that he’s handling it.

 

“This fool spilt his drink and wasted my food. Too drunk to walk straight. Does your father employ drunks intentionally?” Arthur opens his mouth to reply but the knight continues, “I’ve heard your servant spends a fair bit of time in the tavern defying your orders.”

 

Arthur doesn’t recognize the man but he steps in with the blade still pointed at his face. Offending a prince is always unwise, but insulting one by means of his servant and best friend…

 

“You would be wise to shut your mouth and leave Camelot while I’m feeling kind. You do not come into my family’s home and insult our staff, and our judgment. If you do not go willingly then I shall make you.” Arthur commands in the lowest tone possible to avoid drawing any further attention from the surrounding crowds. Merlin takes a moment to step away and flee the scene, muttering something unclear as he runs away. Arthur tries not to consider that he may well be running to find Gwen, who will inevitably send Morgana for damage control.

 

The two men stand there unflinching, but eventually the knight concedes. At first Arthur believes he is going to apologize. Instead he says something else, “Prat son of a prat king. Your father is not the majesty you think he is – and that’s why he toddles you off on every quest he can, making you every bit the fool of your manservant. You’re not impressive in any way, Arthur Pendragon, and certainly not deserving of the title ‘crowned prince.’ This land would be better off without you.” Arthur reacts quickly. He smacks the butt of the man’s sword on the top of his head, careful not to let his full strength or anger kill the poor sod. The instant his body shrinks to the ground he lets the sword clang to the floor. Arthur has no desire to remain in the banquet hall any further.

 

He must pass the princesses as he leaves, and he overhears one of them elaborate further on her earlier comments; _“They say he holds his servant above all others. He trusts nobody more, and cares for nobody quite as much.”_

 

Arthur wouldn’t deny any of those claims. Very few had proven themselves as loyal as Merlin, and even less than that had spent the time learning about him. Arthur couldn’t deny that life without Merlin likely wasn’t worth living.

 

Morgana comes running down the hall with Gwen by her side. Their eyes are wide in terror but they smile cautiously as they slow to stop Arthur. When they see he has no intention of slowing down they pivot to follow him. Their questions are constant… “Did you get hurt,” “Did you hurt him,” “What will Uther say,” and “Where are you going?”

 

He remains silent for each question, until finally Gwen asks what Arthur intends to do if the man does not leave or complains to his father. Figuring that he has no place as these Gratia Sabbati parties, Arthur declares, “I won’t be here to find out. I’ll be going to Ealdor with Merlin. Don’t bother me any further.”

 

Once he is free of the crowds Arthur begins to sprint through the halls. He must back before his father has the opportunity to protest. Worse, he may call for Arthur to formally apologize. If the princesses were hearing that he’d be married off to build a strong alliance, well, he couldn’t rule out the possibility that Uther would marry him off the kingdom to which the knight belongs. Arthur doesn’t even stop to observe his surroundings when he slams the chamber door open. His body simply rushes in a common pattern to gather his most pertinent belongings for a three day travel.

 

“Sire, how did you miss that you’d hit someone with the door?” Merlin complains. When Arthur catches sight of him he sees blood flowing down the man’s face. Feeling quite awful he stops and starts pulling his shirt off to sop up the blood. Merlin gestures that he’ll use his own shirt, and has it off before Arthur is able to make it half way across the room.

 

For a second all he does is stare. In the years that Merlin has been serving him, he’s never once seen him undressed. This is surprising, too, since there’ve been a good many times that Merlin’s life was nearly lost. When Merlin catches him staring he puts on a lopsided grin, “Think you could ride about without your shirt? We wouldn’t need any torches.”

 

Merlin sneers at the prince, “Where would we even ride? We’d be lucky to leave the room without causing a scene now. Thanks for that, by the way.”

 

Arthur grins, “We’re going to Ealdor. Without your shirt you mother would see you coming the instant we left the castle.”

 

Passively announcing that they needed to leave was nearly lost on the manservant. A second or so passes before he smiles and starts helping Arthur prepare, one hand holding his red shirt to his face. Arthur doesn’t allow him to do much moving, “Please just lay down. The blood floor won’t stop if you keep your head tilted down.” Arthur had been lectures by Gaius a good number of times for accidentally break the noses of his knights and sparring partners. This wasn’t even the first time that he’d given Merlin a bloody nose.

 

Arthur doesn’t specify where he intends for Merlin to rest. Part of him assumes that Merlin will go to the bed. When he sees the daft man splayed on the floor he shakes his hand and hovers over him with crossed arms.

 

“Damn you, Merlin, why can’t you just do what’s expected of you for once? Get on the bed!” Even with a cloth covering half of his face Merlin’s grin fills the room. They sit looking at one another without much to interrupt them. A few laughs and squabbles in the streets can be heard through his open windows, but mostly Arthur just waits for his friend to get off the cold floor and relocate.

 

Merlin doesn’t budge, “Think of the talk if someone saw you luring me into our bed. A prince and a servant, how scandalous.”

 

“Somehow I think Morgana’s suitors will draw more attention.” Arthur counters. Honestly he wants to ask if the young man had heard the same whispers. If those princesses were thinking he was romantically inclined towards Merlin, then there had to be a group of people suggesting as much. Arthur has not heard serious talk on the topic. Sure, a dozen of the knights imply that Merlin and Arthur are as inseparable as a husband and wife, but those were jokes. They were meant to be nothing more than a laugh.

 

Merlin finally sits up and checks his nose. The bleeding has slowed, and he swears he can just stuff a napkin in his nostril. For some reason this makes Arthur laugh hysterically, and he pushes Merlin towards the bed. Soon the manservant is laughing too. Together they sit on the bed.

 

“For once I am genuinely sorry for causing you trouble. I know you were dreading this week.” Merlin admits as he falls back on the mattress. He lets out a sigh that tells Arthur he’s never been on a proper mattress before nor enjoyed a soft bed. Admittedly, his heart sinks at the thought. Though he is a commoner he is no more than Arthur. In his mind the two of them are equals.

 

Arthur looks sideways at his friend, “I haven’t even made a comment about the Gratia Sabbati gathering. What makes you think I was dreading it?”

 

Surely it was obvious to everyone around him. Arthur made little effort to invite anyone personally, and by little he certainly made none. The only invite he had prepared was to Lancelot. It is still his belief that his father was wrong for denying Lancelot the privilege of being a knight. Of course, he knew Lancelot would never accept the invitation. He was banished, after all, for his lies.

 

A lie made for the right reasons to the wrong man. Arthur would have never let the man go, were it his call, but it was not at the time. Someday it will be, and maybe he will invite the man back to serve under his reign. He hopes it is not too soon that those calls are his to make.

 

“I can hear it in the way you talk. I can see it in the way you avoided any meetings on the celebrations. You’ve taken our supper here instead of the dining hall for weeks now.” Merlin rushes each sentence out in a single breath, and continues on even further after sucking in a mouthful of air. He rests his free hand on his forehead as he tilts to look more directly at Arthur, “You’ve been more demanding in our requests lately. You’ve been unfair in your punishments, but tonight you were quick to defend me when I’ve actually done something wrong. But the biggest giveaway was you being unwilling to let me visit Ealdor.”

 

Arthur cocks a brow, “When have I ever given you time off, Merlin? You’re daft if you thought I was ever going to approve that request.” Everyone calls him out for working Merlin nonstop. There was nowhere he went without the manservant, not even on hunts. He was required to be present at all times. Perhaps this is why the rumors of his affections for the young man were beginning to circulate? Arthur knows it is, but he doesn’t want to think on the matter any further. It is easier to call himself out for his poor treatment of Merlin.

 

“You might be a professional sod but you’re not cruel. You would not have kept me here if you weren’t desperate for the company this week. I can be upset and still understand.” Merlin shares quite calmly. At times he is too wise to be a mere servant in the castle. In fact, Arthur wondered if Merlin had a secret that would change the way Arthur looked at him. There had to be something about Merlin that he simply didn’t know yet. It would be the final detail to explaining how he was so helpful, loyal, and smart without effort.

 

Sometimes Arthur theorized that Merlin was the bastard son of a noble, others he thought the young man was studying to be a scholar when he was “at the tavern.” Arthur has never believed those lies. Gaius is simply covering for his apprentice. A secret does exist but Arthur does not press it. He fears that if he pressures Merlin to share that it will be the end of the friendship.

  
Arthur is at peace knowing he cannot stand to lose the bond they share. When everyone else fails him there will always be Merlin to stand at his side, boldly committed to the crowned prince. Even when Arthur is unsure of himself he has somebody assuring him that he’s doing what is right. There is no life without the young man.

 

“You’re wrong, but I suppose I should be grateful for the kind things you say about me even when I’ve been rotten.” Arthur tells him, “I was packing for Ealdor, by the way. We can leave as soon as we’re both packed.”

 

Merlin rattles on about how it is not a good idea to travel in the night. He warns of bandits and druids, there could be any number of large bears wandering around before hibernation looking for food. He promises there’s not a safe place to camp. When he pulls the napkin to check if he’s still bleeding, though, Arthur spots a sincere smile upon his lips. The only logical thing to do is keep packing.

 

There is absolutely no way that Merlin is turning Arthur down on this opportunity.

 

* * *

 

 

Merlin is slowing the pace a little bit, realizing that Arthur may be on the verge of passing out. They’ve not spoken much since leaving the castle, and it is mainly because they’ve been pushing themselves to move as quickly as possible. The horses starting weakening several hours ago, and their gallops are barely the running speed of a person.

 

“We need to rest soon, Arthur. Even I’m getting tired.” The suggestion seems to fall on deaf ears. Since the sunrise the prince has been oddly quiet. By what, Merlin is not sure. Merlin was sharing his goings-on with the prince, who’d uncharacteristically inquired about his life away from the castle. Merlin reflects on his response, _“There isn’t much of one.”_ His magic was the only thing he ever cared much about when he wasn’t working for Arthur or Gaius.

 

Sometimes he would help Gwen with something here or there, which he’d told Arthur about. Recently the young woman asked him to help her harvest a garden for a friend that was ill in the lower city. Even more recently than that she was shopping for Morgana was Merlin was purchasing goods for Gaius. He told him about the lovely picnic they’d had after their trip.

 

 _“Where was I?”_ Arthur questioned. Merlin knew exactly where the king was – meetings. There were these small conferences he shared with Uther. Everything was shared with Merlin after the fact, but the king strictly forbade Merlin’s presence. Uther was never worried about Merlin knowing too much, but just being too involved. Of course, that is likely a nicer way of saying he doesn’t want Merlin too involved. It will make him a liability.

 

Unfortunately, his magic makes him a liability to Arthur more than anything.

 

Just after all of that Arthur asked Merlin a more personal question. The warlock hadn’t even replied initially because it was such a shock. He never properly considered the prospect before, _“Are you courting Guinevere?”_

 

Merlin cares for Gwen deeply, he really does, but even when the possibility arose to be interested in her romantically it did not seem appealing. She kissed him once, which he stupidly shared with Arthur when he did finally speak up. However, he was clear to tell Arthur that his priority was always his work. He was always focused on being at Arthur’s side; _“Everyone deserves a friend. I hope that you see me as one.”_

 

“I’ll rest when we get there. I am not visiting anyone so I’ll just have your bed while you run about visiting old friends.” Of course, there are no friends left alive. Merlin was always a bit of an outcast. Nobody knew he had magic, except his mother, back in Ealdor. The only friend he had that did know had died covering for him. Merlin felt guilty so much still that he couldn’t think his name. It was just a reminder of the losses he’s suffered for his gifts.

 

If it could even be called a gift…

 

“There’s a tavern somewhere around here. Maybe we could rest there for the night. Then we can power straight through the rest of the way.” Merlin suggests the only thing that may be logical in Arthur’s mind. In a way it feels as though he’s running away from something. Sometimes he fears the prince isn’t up the task of ruling a kingdom. Merlin knows Arthur is ready but selfishly he is glad that the burdens are not on his shoulders. In his heart he knows that kingship will only bring about new stresses, some of which may create a rift between the two of them.

 

In too many ways, Arthur has become Merlin’s life. Kilgarrah had said to him, “two sides of the same coin.” Merlin is bound to Arthur as fate. The future they each have is sewn together in the fabrics of time, and destined to be one and the same. Nothing matters more to Merlin than ensuring that Arthur Pendragon reaches his full potential.

 

Still, the dedication is more than that. He lies not when he says he wants Arthur to see him as a friend. This is how Merlin sees their relationship. Forcing himself out of his thoughts, he presses Arthur again, “What do you say? We call it a night when we get to the tavern?”

 

Arthur shrugs his shoulders. He is still wrapped up in his thoughts. Merlin steers his horse closer to the prince and reaches an arm out to prod him. At the last second before they touch Arthur speeds up.

 

“Race you there. I guess a pint of ale wouldn’t be too bad right now.” Before Merlin can even blink the prince is a kilometer or two ahead of the warlock. If he were a lesser man he’d use his magic to revive the horse’s strength but it hardly seems fair. Arthur had to bond with his horse to get it responding so well to him. Merlin should just play by the rules, as he usually does with Arthur.

 

Arthur arrives first. Merlin straggles in easily two hours later with all of his bags on his shoulders and a crooked grin wrinkling his face. Immediately he spots Arthur at the counter with a gentleman. Unable to see the person’s face, Merlin scurries up with every intention of scolding Arthur for not at least waiting outside to help with the luggage.

 

Once he steps between Arthur and his newfound guest a familiar voice rings in his ears; “Merlin!”

 

Instinctively he drops everything.

 

“Oi! Lancelot!” Merlin throws his arms around his lost friend. All the emotions of failing him rise again and tears threaten his eyes. Surely they are bloodshot now but he nestles his face into the hood of Lancelot’s jacket.

 

Lancelot starts by asking what brings Merlin and Arthur away from the castle during Gratia Sabbati. Arthur tries to insert himself into the conversation but Merlin greedily shuts him out. Instead of answering the question he issues further inquiry; “What have you been doing?”

 

The barstool scoots behind him, and Merlin hears that Arthur is gathering some of the bags. Something is deeply off about Arthur and it just worsens as time passes. Once he is sure that Arthur has gone off, probably to the room, he addresses the matter to Lancelot. Only once he’s finished his recount of life since being banished from Camelot.

 

“I wander in and out along the borders for odd jobs, but I spend a fair bit of time near Ealdor. Your mother’s hospitality knows no bounds, Merlin. Hunith is a kind woman and it is now no surprise that Arthur is well off with you.” Lancelot puts a hand on Merlin’s forearm. Quickly he peers around the room again, especially careful to check behind him. This is his opportunity to ask an outsider for an opinion on the odd behavior.

 

He leans closer and uses the softest tone he can manage while remaining perfectly clear; “Speaking of Arthur, he’s been off the last couple of days. It’s not in a bad way but it is troubling.”

 

Lancelot’s brows jerk up but only for a moment. Unexpectedly he looks around for the prince too. Together they silent decide to move the conversation outside. Each man grabs a pint and walks out the entrance very casually. It is easily ten or fifteen minutes before they are far enough away to feel comfortable.

  
The topic isn’t sensitive, but the subject may be. Merlin doesn’t want to offend Arthur by not asking him directly. It would not produce an answer even if he asks directly because the prince is stubborn. Days of nagging would probably get the truth out, in small spurts if he was lucky enough.

 

Once they are sure they are safe from prying ears Merlin unloads. Arthur’s harassment of the knight in the castle, the offer to lay upon his bed in his private chambers, the decision to travel with him to Ealdor, and the questioning of romantic relationship with Gwen. It took a moment to stop Lancelot from laughing, knowing full well that Gwen was in love with him. When he did stop, though, he ruffled his hair and knotted his brows in though.

 

“Something must be bothering him about you. When you get around people that know you they whisper. I’ve experienced it when the knights run into me on a quest. They talk about you when they think you can’t hear. Inevitably where there is conversation about Arthur Pendragon there will be talk of his servant. The two of you are one and the same.” Fear creeps into his gut. Lancelot must see it on his face and tries to comfort him, “It might be something meaningless. Just a few nights ago I was helping a blacksmith with a king’s armor needing repaired while they stopped. There were some knights rattling on about the princess learning to kiss from her handmaiden.”

 

Merlin scoffed, “You’ve become a gossip, haven’t you?”

 

A laugh fills the air, “No, I just hear things. Can’t make friends very well when you’re travelling. I learn all my news listening on the streets. Rumors of painfully dull things go around, but sometimes the right person hears it and questions it.” Lancelot doesn’t have to say that Merlin should just ask for him to know. Ever the knight, he always believes in the good of people. Lancelot is honest and compassionate, and every bit the true love Gwen deserves. Merlin mourns silently a moment on the lost chance as romance the two could have shared in Camelot. Imagining Gwen as more than a handmaiden to Morgana swells his heart. What a noblewomen she could have been, he thinks.

 

“Even though I know you’re probably right, I can’t shake the feeling that this is more than that. Will you be staying the night here? In case I get kicked out of our room, you know.” Each chugs the last bits of their drinks. As they head back Lancelot assures Merlin that he can afford another night and will be available if Arthur shuts him out. The man even offers his assistance to the warlock if the need arises.

 

“I’m sure you have a spell to draw the truth out. But you’re the best knight of us all.” Lancelot proclaims, “And I don’t see you doing anything like that to someone as important to you are Arthur.”

 

Soon the two go separate ways, Merlin using what money he has to pay for the drinks. He swears it an expression of gratitude for Lancelot’s secrecy and friendship. It is also penance for all the wrong he committed against the poor man. Though his life was not different fundamentally, Lancelot knew the other side of his story. Merlin believes knowing is dangerous. The cost of knowing cannot be seen but can be felt. He hates how Lancelot must feel when he’s on his own.

 

Arthur is lying facedown on the bed when he finds the room described by the barkeep. Lancelot is at the end of the same hallway, which means Merlin won’t be going far if he needs a back-up location for sleeping. No sooner does the door shut does he open his mouth.

 

No need in dancing around the topic, he decides; “What’s bothering you?”

 

Arthur grunts.

 

“Tell me what’s got your knickers in a knot.” Merlin pushes again.

 

And…

 

Arthur merely grunts again. Though this time he switches to having the pillow under his head to over it. A very childish reaction, the thought settles, but somehow unsurprising to Merlin. Honestly, he’s done the same to Gaius.

 

“Sire, you can tell me what’s bothering you or I can make something up. Which do you think is going to be more embarrassing? The truth – or what I piece together?” He’s hoping that Arthur would be more worried about the convoluted story the manservant could create. After all, nobody is closer to Arthur than he is – and the number of embarrassing stories that Merlin knew should reasonably be enough to get him talking.

 

Arthur Pendragon is not a reasonable man.

 

Made even more apparent by his resistance, “Do your worst, Merlin, and pay the consequences.”

 

Chickening out, Merlin lays down on the neighboring bed with his gaze cast to the sky. He knows he should be spouting off some nonsense to coerce a response from Arthur. He knows he should be pressing harder. Merlin hasn’t a clue how he knows this but he just does.

 

“Thanks for keeping your mouth shut.” Arthur grumbles from beneath the pillow, “You did our job for once.”

 

Merlin laughs, “So you want to talk about! You just don’t want to tell me willingly!”

 

Arthur sits up and throws his pillow. Then he crawls out of the bed and pushes Merlin playfully; “I don’t want to talk about it but I don’t want you to be quiet either. I’m so used to you being a loudmouthed wanker that I don’t know what to do without the noise.”

 

Merlin cannot resist laughing at him. Whatever has gotten into Arthur, he can’t say he minds. This is a slightly softer version of the man he’s been serving for years. The gentler playfulness and the genuine interest in Merlin are refreshing.

 

They sit still on Merlin’s bed and look around the room, the silence becoming very prominent. He can feel the prince getting irritated by his newfound quiet. It’s almost intentional, in a way. Minutes pass but Arthur doesn’t complain further. Merlin doesn’t start a new conversation either. They just sit.

 

Eventually they break apart and lay down, becoming too tired to being difficult towards one another. They only speak enough to say goodnight, though Arthur does try to be cheeky about it; “Now don’t you go talking at the only time I need you to be quiet, Merlin.”

 

“Not a chance, sire.” Merlin says softly. Maybe the quickest way to get Arthur to reveal what’s eating away at him isn’t to ask, but to be silent. Lancelot wasn’t wrong. Addressing the matter directly will reveal more than sitting back and analyzing the whole ordeal.

 

Not talking to Arthur will be the best way to get Arthur talking to him.

 

* * *

 

 

“My boy!” She wails the instant she sees her son riding up on a horse. There was no letter of warning. Even she hasn’t been thinking he would show up. His dedication to the young prince of Camelot was stronger than the work of fairytales. No bond was truer.

 

For this reason she is unsurprised to see Arthur tailing a few meters behind. A smile must rip the cheeks of her face clean off, the look on her son’s face, but she doesn’t care. Just having him there was enough for her – she didn’t need anyone telling her she was beautiful to cheer her up today.

 

“Mum!” Merlin throws himself off his horse the instant he’s able to do so, and he nearly knocks her down in the process. For all the joy she feels she notices there’s tenseness in her son’s shoulders. Though his face is convincing, his body betrays him. She doesn’t dwell on that matter at this time. She wonders if perhaps the king’s presence is causing him distress. Hunith can’t imagine that being the issue but sometimes things are just funny that way.

 

Once the pair breaks apart she waves at Merlin’s company; “Afternoon, my lord. What a surprise it is to see you both here.” She curtsies out of habit. She knows there is no need to do as much with the prince. Merlin assured her that no amount of courtesy was ever paid to Arthur, beyond the secret charities she knew he’s given to the young man.

 

“I was hoping it would be…” Arthur mumbled. Seconds barely seem to pass when he continues speaking, “Merlin belongs here this week. I do apologize for accompanying him, and pray that you won’t be bothered by the extra company.”

 

Hunith laughed a hearty tone into the air. As she’s just been thinking, to see Merlin without Arthur would a far stranger sight. The two belonged with one another without a doubt. Each man made the other a better, stronger person. In ways they couldn’t possibly yet understand, they needed each other; “Oh, my lord, I couldn’t imagine my son without you. It is always an honor to have you visiting.”

 

 

He’s not been around many times, but when he’s come with Arthur, or she’s been to Camelot, the young prince has been nothing shy of compassionate. It is odd that he would be such a fine lad when his own father is a monster. Hunith only sent Merlin away for safety, and knew that even that choice may have not been the best. Her hopes were always that Gaius would keep Merlin’s gifts hidden in plain sight. So far he’s done a fantastic job.

 

“Your kind words haven’t been earned, Hunith, though I thank you for them regardless. I will buy what you need for supper while you catch up with Merlin.” Arthur offers without even blinking. Never has she met such a generous person borne into royalty. Again she just smiles.

 

Merlin insists that Arthur come along, that he’s welcome to join them. They stare at one another for a few moments before Merlin jerks away, pretending not to be offended. Her son insists that the prince is just tired from the day’s travels. On that note he guides her away; “Arthur will get his horse to the cottage on his own.” There was no doubt of this fact. Hunith assumes that there is another matter that is concerning her young warlock, and that it’s something that magic cannot solve for him.

 

Only one thing comes to her mind as far as things magic cannot address properly. A giggle dances around in her throat but she contains it. Knowing that it is not her place to press the matter she can only wait patiently for her son to ask the right questions.

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur buys what locals recommend for an easy but satisfying meal. Mostly he picks up grains. One farmer had a fresh batch of cider. The locals know Arthur because Merlin works for him, and perhaps because he’s a prince. Ealdor doesn’t belong to Camelot, so it really is more likely for them to associate the Pendragon heir to their local oddity. Once he’s done his shopping he steers his horse in the direction of Hunith’s home.

 

Riding through the village alone has a definite solitude about it. Arthur decides it is not a good feeling. To get his mind off being by himself he observes the people of Ealdor. It isn’t big, and most of the people can be seen from the center of their town. Still, he observes everyone around him. A young man and woman, for example, as sitting together on the front steps of a cottage – it is familiar somehow.

 

She’s sitting a step lower, head resting on his knee. Once in awhile he glances down to her while she’s talking. Arthur believes the pair to be in love without any pause or doubt. They are extensions of each other. He doesn’t need to look at her when she speaks because he voice is enough, because she is already a part of him. She doesn’t need to be draped over him for him to know that she’s invested. Arthur hasn’t felt the touch of love and even with his lack of personal understanding he still knows. Anyone else would smile at the two but it just makes Arthur turn his head uneasily.

 

Everything bit of angst he’s harboring is childish. Both he and Merlin are mature enough to address a variety of topics. There’s no reason he cannot just bring up what he heard in the castle. Being so wrung out about it can only mean one thing: _there’s merit in those rumors._ Was Arthur really not in love with someone because he was so invested in Merlin?

 

Was Arthur not in love with someone because he didn’t know he was in love with Merlin?

 

Was that even possible?

 

No sooner does he cleanse those thoughts is he met with Merlin and Hunith waiting at the door for him. Apparently Arthur spent more time in town that he thought previously. As he jumps off his horse Merlin gets to work unpacking everything and taking the horse to a nearby stable. They don’t have to speak.

 

While his servant is away, he figures it can’t hurt to make small talk with his mum, “He doesn’t hate working for me, right?”

 

“Goodness, no! Merlin may gripe about how hard you work him but he’d be lost without the job. I think he’s right where he belongs, my lord.” He waits for her face to contort, or to reveal dishonesty in her reply. It does no such thing. In fact, her face actually softens with happiness as she speaks.

 

Arthur leans out and around the corner of the house, pacing closer to Hunith. This is a daring thing to say, he knows. Accusations could easily hide in what he’s going to ask. Still, he boldly carries it through before he changes his mind; “Has he ever expressed his feelings about me to you.”

 

Arthur is expecting her to be mortified. Instead she seems to be amused. There seems to be little reason to wait outside, suddenly, and she ushers him inside the house. Deliberately she shuts the door behind her and bustles to the furthest part of the house, urging Arthur to follow along. He finds that she’s going to a washbasin. The water inside must be cold, but she still carries on cleaning as usual.

 

Then she finally replies, “I don’t think he has to, but if he’s never said anything specific about you to me. No more than what I’m sure he communicates to you. I hear you’re – oh what’s he say…” Hunith trails off trying to remember the specific insult.

 

Just as it comes to her Arthur begins saying it as well, so together their voices chime; “Clotpole!”

 

“He hides very little from me.” Arthur confirms.

 

They do not converse any further because Merlin rattles the door. Arthur doesn’t remember the stable being that close. It is possible that the servant moved very fast in all of his eagerness. Being home gave him a fresh motivation to do his best at everything. Arthur changes the topic quickly to mask the awkward feeling that may be lingering in the room.

 

“I’m afraid I can’t cook anything I’ve purchased.” Remarkably, this was one incredibly important skill to have that he simply did not. From a young age his meals were prepared for him, designed specifically to make him strong and bulky. His father insisted on a “man’s meal.” When he was old enough to show an interest, well, he didn’t. That’s about the time he started burning through servants faster than a wildfire. If he were smarter that’s when he would have learned to make food on his own.

 

But Gwen filled in where his servants were absent or lacking. Arthur supped a many time in Morgana’s chambers in the evening privately. People mistake their bickering for romance, and maybe it might have been flirting at first but it was never going to last.

 

Morgana is every bit his opposite. She is wild, unpredictable, and excited. Where Arthur would sit back and plan for hours she would take action with consequences floating in the wind. What would irritate Arthur enough to confront his father would have Morgana waiting at a stake prepared for death. Stories will be written about her feisty defiance someday, and all Arthur could hope is that he was not the opposing force of her whims.

 

His cold hand jumped to his neck when Merlin chimes in, moving into their immediate presence; “It’s true. He once asked me to cook to impress Gwen once. Only she wasn’t excited about doing the dishes he left behind.”

 

Arthur swats at his friend, “I was trying to show my appreciation. I value her feedback because she’s honest with me.” Without meaning to do it, he swings his gaze back to Hunith. She wriggles her brows at him suspiciously, or maybe it’s expectantly.

 

Merlin shoves the prince in return, “She’s the only one then?” Regardless of whether he questions if Arthur values him the young man just carries on with his usual life. It almost seems as if he falls into a pattern. Merlin hugs his mother, kisses her cheek, presses his forehead to hers and reminds her how much he loves her. They share a quiet word that is unintelligible to Arthur, and then Merlin offers to start cooking so she can rest.

 

Hunith doesn’t relax as Merlin directs, but she takes her time finishing various chores in the cottage. One of which is setting Arthur up in Merlin’s old bedroom. It leaves the prince and his manservant alone in the forefront of the house. Unsure of how to exist as a prolonged guest, Arthur watches.

 

Merlin is mixing the vegetables in a broth, throwing in pits of chopped rabbit every so often. The fumes from the meal are different that what Arthur’s experienced before in the castle. The food is really good, and he had no complains at any point, lest Merlin brought cold food. As far as he knew he really hadn’t cooked very much. The instance at Gwen’s was hardly worth noting since the expectation going into it was that the prince had prepared that meal. Still he hadn’t complained of the quality.

 

This smells so warm and welcoming. Arthur fails to keep his mouth shut, “Never thought of you as the domestic sort.”

 

“My job is to be domestic for you, you sod.” Merlin slams right back at him. When he looks up their eyes meet. Instantly he knows the man is laughing at him. Without ever breathing a word in his direction it’s obvious that Arthur didn’t mean it necessarily the way it came out. An entire conversation seems to take place before either of them speaks once again.

 

When they do begin conversing again all they discuss is life in Ealdor. The longest Arthur can stay is a week, if his father doesn’t send knights after him sooner. Minutes pass quickly, each revealing more about the pair than they realize in the moment. Merlin shares that he misses simple life with his mother. Arthur doesn’t feel as if he belongs at the massive banquets in the castle.

 

It goes on and on, even after Hunith comes back out. Merlin shares embarrassing stories about Arthur – grumbling in his sleep about fishes, or duels. Hunith fires back at him with embarrassing stories from his childhood; “Once he wouldn’t let me cut his hair. He wanted a long ponytail at the back of his head. Thought it made him closer to the horses.” Arthur laughs so loudly that Merlin jokes it’s shaken the house up completely.

 

Then he spills a bit of the stew on his shirt as he test the cook of the vegetables.

 

“There’s my clumsy Merlin.” The remark happens so effortlessly that he hardly notices the language he chooses. Hunith doesn’t bat an eye even when Arthur feels his eyes widen. She simply tosses a hand rag at her son before waddling away to fetch a new shirt.

 

His manservant watches carefully as his mother leaves. The instant he does Merlin stares the prince down; “ _Your_ Merlin? Since when have I been _your_ Merlin?”

 

“I jumbled my worlds. I didn’t mean that you’re _mine_.” Arthur shakes his head, jiggles in his chair, and finally stands up to stare out the window behind his friend. This is a whole mess and he doesn’t know how to navigate it. Feelings are not something he excels at understanding.

 

Merlin pulls his shirt off and tosses it on the counter where dirty dishes from preparations rest. He leans forward and his white skin captures Arthur’s attention. It was not a lie when he said the young man could light a room.

 

Merlin barely makes a noise when he does respond, “So what’s bothering you then?” Together they sigh, knowing that the servant is referring back to when he originally questioned what was on the prince’s mind. Then it has every bit as blunt, but the seriousness wasn’t there. Now Merlin’s voice is vibrant and bold. He won’t let it go, Arthur can just tell.

 

So he lets it fall out, “There are rumors that you and I have a relationship.”

 

“Of course we do.” Merlin comments with his perfect as-a-matter-of-factly tone, “Friendship is a type of relationship. Perhaps you misheard.”

 

“No more than you misheard me.” Arthur bites. He wants the man to take him seriously. After all, he’s been replaying the same thoughts and concerns for three days. Shouldn’t Merlin now begin questioning everything in kind?

 

Hunith makes it back before Merlin is able to say anything further. He slides into a fresh tunic and vigorously prepares the remainder of the dinner. Well, all he needs to finish is the bread. He warms it and pulls out a bowl of butter, “Mum has a weak spot for butter from the farmer’s daughter. She buys it even when she doesn’t have the means.” Merlin makes a stink eye at her.

 

Defending the decision to buy the butter is easy enough. She recounts how the young lady wants to marry the lad she’s been hanging around with the last few months. Arthur asks if she could describe the couple. She obliges and confirms that the young couple he’d seen earlier in the day was the same she spoke of now. Merlin queries it, but Arthur insists that Hunith is doing a quietly kind thing.

 

A grin on his lips, “Those two are so obviously in love it is painful.”

 

“How do you mean?” Merlin questions lightly. Hunith and Arthur steal glances before each of them shrugging it off. Merlin presses further, knowing that Arthur is lying; “How could you tell they loved each other.”

 

Hunith begins, “For me it’s just the way she smiles when she talks about him. Happiness is in her very blood when he’s on her mind.”

 

Arthur continues, further painting a picture; “They were barely touching and somehow they were a single unit. Some things belong together – a sword and shield, for example.”

 

“And they just look as though they fit perfectly together!” Hunith exclaims joyfully. Arthur cannot resist grinning along with her. The love was almost tangible.

 

Merlin seems irritated and humored, “So how would it be painful to see that?” The question is certainly aimed at Arthur. However, Merlin’s mother chooses to answer on his behalf. It’s so perfect that there’s no need for the prince to build upon it.

 

“Nothing is harder than seeing someone with something we wished we had for ourselves.” Merlin knows that his mother raised him alone. His father was a mystery, somebody completely absent from his life. Once Gwen had shared with him Hunith loved Merlin’s father dearly. The prince assumed she must have to not have remarried all these years.

 

The bits and pieces of conversation are sewn fully together. Hunith must have pieced the puzzle together early on, and says she’ll take her dinner in her room. She was feeling a bit cold, or some nonsense. Arthur insists that Hunith remain at the table; “It is your home. Don’t be driven away by whatever just happened.”

 

Merlin arches his brows so high that Arthur is sure they will fall from his face any second. He protests, and suggests that maybe Arthur and Merlin leave the table. Arthur disagrees, and it gets a bit ridiculous after awhile…

 

“Well, I’m done with my bowl so I’ll have my bread in my room. Enjoy your conversation, boys.” Hunith then displays her empty bowl before briskly leaving the room. Silence fills the space between Arthur and Merlin. Instead of talking they are finish their food feeling bitter about the argument. It is completely stupid but they won’t own up to it until they move into Merlin’s room for a private discussion.

 

* * *

 

 

Confidently the two men put themselves opposite of one another. Arthur is standing with his back pressed against the wall with a perfect view outside of the tiny window. The night sky is dark but the stars brighten it so much that it doesn’t even feel late. Merlin is sitting on his bed and is squished into the corner, elbows resting on knees and chin planted in his palms.

 

“So.” Merlin dropped the open-ended word in the air.

 

“Just get on with it, yeah?”

 

Arthur doesn’t mean to be as harsh as he is but some things are so naturally ingrained that it can’t be avoided. Trees outside sway in the wind and he tries recalling if it had been cold during their travels at night. Unfortunately, he was unable to say with certainty because he was so caught up in his mind.

 

“People have been saying we are in a relationship?” Merlin ponders, “And when they say that they don’t mean we are good friends. People think we are in a romantic relationship?”

 

Reality settles in and weighs Arthur down. Questioning whether or not he blew this entire situation out of proportion, he sinks to the floor. It’s cool through the fabric of his trousers. In a way the temperature is refreshing. The floorboards are keeping his emotions in check, only just though.

 

Merlin still waits for an answer and the prince only gives it to him when he clears his throat. Steadily he nods his head, mumbling almost inaudibly that a handful of princesses floating around him at the banquet were murmuring about the possibility. In a flurry Merlin recounts the numerous times knights joked that Merlin would make a lovely wife.

 

Precisely that is what stirs Arthur to explain his struggle with the concept, “Hearing strangers make comments has me wondering if the knights were really joking. They couldn’t ask me something so personal directly, could they?” Merlin seems to follow along with what he’s implying. Silently he makes connections to every incident where there were references to Arthur and Merlin being a couple. Isolating each incident enlightens the mind. Before long he’s knit his brows together in curiosity.

 

“But you’ve been off for a few weeks. Did you hear it from someone else before that?” Damn Merlin for being so observant. Speaking truthfully, Arthur would not be able to say confidently that this is the only thing that’s been on his mind. He could, and does, tell Merlin that he was feeling out of place and alone leading up to the Gratia Sabbati celebrations.

 

He even tells his manservant plainly that he did not want to let Merlin go out of his own selfish desire to have a friend with him all week. These truths make Merlin giggle a little uncontrollably. Eventually he finds his words again but only to reveal that Merlin has never questioned his feelings for Arthur once.

 

“You are the only person that matters. Sure, other people mean a lot to me, but I know that we have a future together. You will become king someday and you’ll trust even fewer people, but I will always be there for you. There’s not a single person I wouldn’t let die if it meant seeing you to the destiny written for you.” Merlin chooses not to reveal his magic to the young prince. Too much too fast is rarely ever a good thing, and being friends matters more than being a warlock openly.

 

Peace settles around the two men. Neither explicitly says that they love one another. Neither actually proclaims that there’s romantic attraction between them. All the stress melts away as each tucks into their blankets. Merlin insists Arthur take the mattress, since he’s accustom to a proper mattress. Defiant as ever, the brunette man pulled all of his bedding from the mattress and set up shop next to the prince. Merlin admires the blond strands of hair covered Arthur’s sleepy eyes.

 

“You need to know that you mean just as much to me, Merlin. There is not a soul in the world I value more.” Soon after they both yawn. Eyes are locked onto one another. Even though the do not know where they stand at the present they can find out together. For now all that matters is that they know how special and grateful they are for one another.

 


End file.
